


love me tender, love me sweet

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Banter, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk (No Humiliation), F/M, Fluff, Humour, No Humiliation Kink, Smut, handjob, soft smut, sweet smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13523910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: “Fitz?”“Yeah?”“Why don’t you ever say anything – you know, during sex?”-Originally intended to be a hotter+heavier prompt fill for "Fitz + dirty talk", this turned into a softer, sweeter fic full of humour and banter and love. I couldn't not post it! Enjoy. Rating M/E.





	love me tender, love me sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended to be a hotter+heavier prompt fill for "Fitz + dirty talk" and a few along the lines of "Jemma asks Fitz to tell her what he wants," this turned into a softer, sweeter fic full of humour and banter and love. I couldn't not post it! 
> 
> I do intend to soon write one more befitting the [Gentleman & Scholar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11476443/chapters/25735023) verse for which this was originally prompted, so if you're looking for something raunchier try there, but in the meantime, enjoy!

“Fitz?”

“Yeah?” 

“Why don’t you ever say anything – you know, during sex?” 

Fitz paused work on the prototype before him, and frowned down at his screwdriver. “What do you mean?”

Behind him, the springs on the bed lifted and Jemma padded across the room. As she drew her fingers over his perpetually-tense shoulders, Fitz turned in his seat to face her. He took her hands in his and she smiled fondly at him, biting back a flash of cheek as, with a surprisingly straight face, she elaborated: 

“In bed. You don’t say much. I was just wondering, is there a reason for that, or…” 

Fitz hummed thoughtfully, though a blush crept into his cheeks.

“I don’t know- I mean, there’s a lot going on,” he guessed. “You know how I get when I’m processing, maybe it’s that.” 

“I don’t think so,” Jemma countered. “You’re… _attentive,_ don’t get me wrong. Just quiet.” 

“Is that a problem?” 

“Well…no…” Jemma twisted their fingers together over and over as she searched for the phrasing that would convey what she was asking in a more direct way. “It’s just – don’t you like hearing me? You know, telling you what I like?” 

“Of course I do,” Fitz replied, puffing his chest instinctively. Jemma smirked.

“Why?” she pressed playfully. 

“Ancient caveman genes, I assume,” Fitz quipped, and snorted to himself. Still playing with Jemma’s fingers, he gently lifted them to his lips. “No, it’s not that. Not _just_ that, anyway. I like knowing when I’m doing well. I like… making you happy.” 

“Then, don’t you perhaps think that I might like the same?” 

Fitz looked up, frowning into Jemma’s hopeful eyes. The glimmer of mischief was still there, but not overpowering the expression that told him she was just glad he was finally catching on. 

“You- you would?” 

“Of course!” Jemma insisted. “I mean, I know I’m a goddess and you’re blessed that I’ve chosen to share my body with you, etcetera, etcetera, but would it kill you to tell me what you _really like?”_

Freeing one of her hands from their hold, she drew a finger across one of his pectorals, and popped the next button down on his open collar. Fitz fought to pull himself together and stop his jaw hanging loose, having just been about to say something along the very lines she had foreseen. The trail her finger left burned bright through his shirt as a whole world of sexual, sensual possibilities seemed to open up before him – and yet, his blush deepened. 

“It just sounds so crass when you put it like that,” he objected. “I guess it… makes me self-conscious. I mean I barely talk to myself- you know, in the shower.” 

Jemma snorted. “I’ve seen it all, Fitz. You can say you masturbate in front of me.” 

“That’s just it!” Fitz yelped. “I don’t know if I can. And it – it – it’s going to kill the mood if I overthink it.” 

“Then don’t overthink it.” 

Jemma slipped sidesaddle onto Fitz’s lap and draped an arm around his neck. The mischief was more than a glimmer now, but Fitz barely got a second to appreciate it before Jemma had locked her lips on his in a fierce, air-stopping kiss. When she came away they were both a little breathless, pupils blown wide with desire. The air was warm and close. Fixing her eyes on his, Jemma commanded: 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“Kiss me again.” 

The words spilled out in hot hunger, in desperation, but Jemma obeyed enthusiastically: kissing and kissing and kissing, letting air in every now and then to stoke the fire. She shifted in her seat to get a better angle and Fitz had an idea. 

“Sit front on,” he said. “Straddle my legs, like – yeah.”

Jemma laughed, following his suggestion before the words had even made it out of his mouth. With one leg either side of his, she wrapped both arms around his neck, and ground a little against his groin for good measure. Fitz glared.

“Naughty girl,” he scolded. 

“But see, now you’re getting it. What next?” 

“Well…” Fitz looked away, biting his lip as his train of thought wavered. 

“Don’t think,” Jemma reminded him. “In this moment. What’s next? What do you want me to do?” 

“Right. I know. I, uh…”

“Don’t stress.” She put her hand over his heart. “This is supposed to be fun. I want to make you happy. Don’t worry about impressing me or anything, I’m not trying to put you on the spot, and I won’t think any worse of you for anything you ask. Including if you want me to stop. Do you want me to stop?” 

“No way.” 

“Do you want to kiss a bit more?” 

“Yeah. Kissing’s good.” 

She smiled. “Kissing’s good.” 

To Fitz’s relief, his brief hesitation quickly subsided when she leaned in and kissed it away. With their bodies moving together, as naturally and easily as ever, the elaborate mental effort to list out his options and choose between them and their myriad advantages and disadvantages began to collapse. Instead he closed his eyes and relished a far more instinctual map of sensation. Hadn’t he been the one, after all, to suggest that they _don’t think, just do?_ All Jemma wanted was a description of the moment. This moment. So he observed. The air was thick, difficult to drag in between kisses, but he didn’t mind. It made his head feel pleasantly cloudy; a little heavy, a little drunk. He hummed with pleasure as the kisses fuelled him: for all Jemma’s hands were cold and precise, her lips were warm and soft. What would perfect this picture?” 

“Put your hands in my hair.” 

“Like this?”

Jemma slid her fingers up through his curls at the nape of his neck, and a pleasant tingle ran down his spine. 

“Mm, yeah,” he purred, and chased her lips. She played with his hair while they kissed, sending renewed flurries of pleasure tingling one after the other down and out through his nervous system. His hands crept up her legs to her hips. She leaned forward, rubbing her chest against his as she experimented with angle. He moaned against her lips, and she smiled. 

“Is that good?” she teased. “Remember, you promised you’d tell me.”

“Heavenly,” he insisted. “God, Jemma, this feels amazing.” 

“So poetic,” Jemma noted, and bit her lip. “Baby steps. Can I try something?” 

“Please do.” 

“Lift up your chin.” 

“Really? Oh – okay.” 

Fitz hung in suspense as Jemma kissed her way down his neck. It was something she herself found quite exciting but Fitz – now that he was paying attention at this level of detail – was rather indifferent. It was not unpleasant, far from it, but it had nowhere near the level of satisfaction of a few seconds ago.

That is. Until she found the right spot. 

“I like that one.”

“Where? Here?” Her lips and tongue teased the spot again, right down by his collarbone, and Fitz was tempted to sink deeper in the chair – forgetting for a moment that Jemma would sink with him. Unfazed, she put a foot on the ground for balance and focused on popping Fitz’s shirt buttons undone to make a better go of it. 

“You can do better than that,” Fitz encouraged. “Really go for it, come on.” 

Jemma sat up a little, her nose crinkled with impish glee. “You want me to give you a hickey?” 

“If you can do it without too much teeth.” 

Jemma raised an eyebrow as if to say _challenge accepted_ , and returned her attention to Fitz’s neck, feeling her way around the base of his neck until he shuddered at her touch. There, that was the spot. She ran her teeth lightly along his skin, and he made a wheezing little grunt. 

“Words,” she reminded him, speaking into his skin. 

“That’s good, Jemma, right there,” he encouraged, and she felt the words in his throat against her ear. His long legs stretched out from the chair as if he wanted her to press along his body as much as possible; as if he were trying to increase his surface area to increase the pleasure, somehow. One of his hands held somewhere on the chair for balance, the other climbed up Jemma’s shirt as she reached up to card her fingers through his curls again. He let go of the chair, struggling to remember where they were and how little they were held up by as his map of sensation lit up like a Christmas tree. 

Tingles down his spine from Jemma’s touch. His lips, wet and a little swollen, cool in the night air. Heat radiating from the kiss mark Jemma was working hard to leave at his neck, while her breasts rubbed up against his chest and her groin against his. He was hard now, straining against the material that separated him from her. Only their legs were disconnected, as Jemma stood for balance. He’d be hopeless to regain his, unless somehow she could lift him from the chair with nothing but her own bewitching charm. 

“Mm, this is fun,” Jemma mused, as she began dotting her kisses further south, slowly, testing each one to feel for his reaction. “I see why you like it so much.” 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Fitz warned, though in his breathless and flustered state there wasn’t much weight behind it. “I think it’s time we take this to the next level. And also to the bed, before these bloody shoes prove the death of me.” 

“Agreed.” 

Jemma stepped back and let Fitz pull himself up after her. His hair stuck out every which way, his shirt was unbuttoned and askew and he had her lipstick from the day smudged on his lips, and here and there against his neck. And of course, the love-bite, a mightily satisfying shade of rouge. All in all, she was quite pleased with her work, but she didn’t get as much time to admire it as she might have liked, as Fitz waved her away. 

“Bed,” he instructed. “Take your shirt off.” 

“Bra on or off?”

Fitz paused midway through kicking his shoes off to consider. “Off.”

“Ancient caveman genes say boobs pretty?” Jemma’s eyes sparkled, teasing him, but he met her naked form with reverent sincerity.

“Gorgeous,” he breathed.

Fitz scooped Jemma off the ground by the hips and spun her around, dropping her lightly onto the bed with practiced finesse. He followed this up with a swift trail of kisses from her navel to her chest, and a moment of attention from his lips and tongue for each nipple before kissing the rest of the way up to her ear. Circling one nipple with his finger, he whispered in a husky tone, right against her skin: 

“Have I ever told you that I really, really, really love these?” He tweaked her pert nipple, and she batted his arm. 

“Stop it, you!” she cried, hooking a leg around his and flipping them onto his back. “Stop trying to distract me. I told you, this is about you. And by that I meant, no sex until I get you off.” 

“Well, you never told me that was in the rules,” Fitz objected – then a smirk, not unlike Jemma’s, crept onto his face. “But if you insist, I think it’s time you take my belt off.” 

“Me? I should?” Smirking right back at him, eyeline never wavering, Jemma removed his belt and unzipped his pants and stuck her hand inside. With a bit less dignity she scrabbled around for the edge of his underwear, distracted by the size and hardness of his erection. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, your hands are cold,” Fitz cursed when she found what she was looking for. “No, don’t stop.” 

He let himself drop back against the blankets, eyes falling closed as he let his mind draw down to the heat building in his groin. He could still feel and taste Jemma’s kisses, and with her hands working him now a good two-thirds of his body sung with pleasure. His toes arched, and he thrust up into Jemma’s hands for good measure. She adjusted her strokes, moving longer and slower, focusing on pressure rather than speed to match what his body seemed to want. It relaxed, and he groaned shamelessly.

“That’s the shit, Jemma,” he breathed. “Fuck. Just like that.” 

Jemma bit her lip, smiling down at him. It was as if he were having a particularly pleasant, if intense, dream. She wondered how many she had featured in – must be dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands by now. A flush of heat ran through her at the thought; no wonder Fitz preened so much about lavishing her with this kind of attention. She was beginning to regret her ‘no sex’ rule, but she was nothing if not a finisher, and Fitz was so close now. His fingers scrabbled at the sheets, and he wheezed and whimpered every now and then, inhaling in shorter and shorter bursts. His expression was graceless and vulnerable, shamelessly swept up in the desire of it all, and a disjointed string of words slipped out between breaths – meaningless, until her heart caught on the way he all but begged her name. 

“God,” she whispered. “You’re so beautiful. Come here.” 

She reached backward and found one of Fitz’s hands, and placed it on her hip. The other found her shoulder of its own accord, and his fingers pressed into her skin, impatient to pull her close as she crawled up his body to kiss him again – making sure, of course, to leave one hand behind. Fitz did his best to kiss back, but he was thoroughly distracted and Jemma didn’t mind at all: usually a passionate and skilled kisser, his lack of form spoke to her own success, and to the pleasure that sparked through him at her touch. When at last he came, Jemma kissed the cry from his lips, and stroked the fingers of her free hand through his hair for good measure until he was spent. 

Fitz sighed. His body felt like it was sinking into the sheets. The world was cooling down rapidly around him and he was breathing hard, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Above him, light breaking through her hair like some kind of angelic vision, Jemma still played with his curls as if she couldn’t help herself – and she was smiling too, apparently quite satisfied with her performance, and of course Fitz’s response. 

“See?” Fitz pointed out, jabbing a vague and delirious finger in the general direction of Jemma’s smugness. “Caveman genes.”

“Bobbi called it ‘peacocking,’” Jemma amended. “I rather like that. I shall have to do it more often.”

“You’ll have to earn it,” Fitz warned. Jemma leaned down to kiss him once more, soft and gentle. 

“It would be my pleasure.”


End file.
